


Literary

by ZaliaChimera



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Affection, Blindfolds, Books, Comfort Reading, Fluff, Gentle Kissing, Gentleness, Hugs, Kissing, M/M, Podcast, Reading Aloud
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-12 13:07:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19132648
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZaliaChimera/pseuds/ZaliaChimera
Summary: It had not been the most important thing that the Archivist had stolen from him, his ability to read, but it had perhaps been the cruelest.Martin reads to Jon.





	Literary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [straydog733](https://archiveofourown.org/users/straydog733/gifts).



> For SD who asked for Jon and Martin and self care!

The soft cloth wraps around his head, and Jon closes his eyes, feels his eyelashes brush against the material.

“Is that okay?” Martin asks, voice soft with concern and worn smooth with care. 

Jon nods. “It’s fine, Martin.” 

Like they haven’t done this before, a dozen times or more now, and each time Martin is infinitely careful with the blindfold, making sure that Jon experiences nothing worse than a trapped hair.

“Alright,” Martin agrees, and then Jon feels the dip of the sofa as Martin settles next to him. There are a few moments of shifting movement, and then an arm round him, pulling him back against Martin’s broad and comfortable chest. His arm is a solid weight around his chest, grounding him there.

“Are you ready?”

Jon nods first, a little distracted by how warm Martin is against him. “I’m ready.”

And then Martin begins to read.

“My father had a face that could stop a clock. I don’t mean that he was ugly or anything; it was a phrase the ChronoGuard used to describe someone who had the power to reduce time to an ultra-slow trickle.”

He has a nice reading voice, calm and measured but not stilted. In another life, Jon thinks as he settles down and relaxes into the story, he would have read audio books, or something similar. He gets really into it, but not in the way of a Statement, where there’s someone else speaking through him. This is just pleasure in the words.

“As the Crimean War enters its one hundred and thirty-first year, pressure groups both at home and abroad are pushing for a peaceful end to hostilities.”

It had not been the most important thing that the Archivist had stolen from him, his ability to read, but it had perhaps been the cruelest. Oh he can sit with a book and read the letters, the blocky print on rough paper, but the words crowd into his brain, fill him up with facts and knowledge until his head spins and the thread of the story is lost to the useless minutiae of Knowing that this is the point where the author crossed out a dozen other words before settling on the one printed. 

He does not need to know where tears of tired frustration dotted the keyboard, or where red slashes of ink tore the fragile flesh of the work apart. 

But he Knows and he Sees, and he cannot read anymore and the guiding force of his life that shaped him is gone.

“The next news item was about a border skirmish with the Socialist Republic of Wales; no one hurt, just a few shots exchanged across the River Wye near Hay.”

But there is this. There is Martin who brings him books and binds his eyes so he cannot see the words, and who reads to him. Martin who lets the stories come alive in his voice, every story different and fresh and thrilling. Doesn’t matter if it’s a cheap crime thriller from the stand at the tube station, or the elegantly bound edition of Brideshead Revisited. He lets Jon devour them vicariously through him.

Finally, he hears the rustle of paper and Martin shifts against him.

“Jon? Are you awake?”

Jon makes an unintelligible noise of agreement, pulling himself out of the lull of Martin’s voice. “I’m awake.”

“Was that okay?”

He asks this every time, like Jon is going to criticise his reading. Okay, maybe he can’t entirely blame Martin for being worried about that. Jon does remember telling a primary school teacher that she was bad at reading the stories in the right way.

But Martin- Martin who holds him and fills him with stories that have nothing to do with reality-

He turns his head, seeking blindly for Martin’s lips. There are fingers under his chin, tilting his head up, and then Martin kisses him softly, sweet as honey and pomegranate.

“Thank you,” he murmurs against Martin’s lips, and then kisses him again.

Martin laughs. It is a quiet but delighted sound, and he reaches for the blindfold to untie it. “We’ll do more later, okay?”

The blindfold falls away from Jon’s eyes and he blinks up at Martin, the flush on his cheeks and the quiet smile that curls his lips. This is his Martin. martin who kisses him and makes him tea and who reads to him, when words are lost to him.

“I’d like that,” Jon says, and every letter is true.

**Author's Note:**

> Quotes are from 'The Eyre Affair' by Jasper Fforde.
> 
> I thought about choosing something poetic and literary, and then decided nah, lets go with absurdist literary fantasy XD


End file.
